FullReads

The wealthy farmer with a rosy hue,
Weekly attends the hardy scot to view;
The pretty homebred soon his eye detain,
Views and admires, then chat in lively strain;
Of natures produce till his business call
Him from such pleasing sights to pace the hall;
Soon as he sees his merchant at his stand,
He shows the produce of his fertile land;
I’ll give you such a price the merchant say,
A higher bidder you’ll not find this day.
But ere the farmer quits the hill he view,
All other stock to find out something new;
A thought then strikes him as the season’s fine,
I’ll buy a few score sheep before I dine;
Into the pens he hies, the bargain struck,
The jobber takes his cash, wish him good luck.
Prehaps his steed don’t travel to his mind,
Looks at the nags, and do a good one find;
The price he thinks too high, but not refrain,
Making another bid the horse to gain;
The dealer tempted by the offer say,
Sir I’ll comply don’t hurry so away;
Lets take a glass of wine to wish success
To your new purchase—hard the farmer press,
The nag is taken from the stand with glee;
Another takes his place with broken knee,
The buyer says what have you standing here?
A damaged one a tumbling one I fear;
Sir cries the dealer as your land is light,
Take him for plough he’s pretty to the sight;
No it can’t be, you must be in a joke,
Sure I can’t see, or else his knees are broke;
But Sir the price I ask will claim a bid,
I have so many that I want to rid;
Ten guineas for him Sir to you I’ll take,
A useful one to you I’m sure he’ll make:
The farmer cries before I quit the ground,
I’ll make an offer which is Sir ten pound;
It is accepted—and away goes nag,
The wealthy farmer draws the canvas bag.
Now to the tavern blithsome they repair,
Take wine and wish that liquor wan’t so dear;
Looks at his watch, then loud the buyer cry,
Its half past one, I to the hall must hie!
Sell as much corn as shall be in my power,
I’m much afraid the markets will be lower.
I’ve sold he cried my wheat and barley well,
I wish I could my oats and horse beans sell;
Straight to his merchant ’gain the farmer hop,
Fearful next market day all things will drop;
The cautious merchant on his skill rely,
And thinks Mark-Lane will have a small supply;
Contrary winds will keep the vessels back,
And in his purchase he will not be slack.
Only one thought now harass much his brain,
He fears to Banker’s shop to go again;
Least he should meet rebuke and irksome scorn,
On casting up he found he’d overdrawn
A running mortgage please the banker’s mind,
Gains it and to the merchant is more kind;
But disappointment all his efforts blast,
A large supply is usher’d in at last;
Mark-Lane is full and markets now decline,
A large supply and weather very fine;
The malsters leaving off they’ll wet no more,
And only clear what is upon the floor;
Merchants there are now dwelling in this place,
That often routs their handsome houses grace;
Gigs very fine a livery servant too,
Is always kept to hide what’s known by few;
That his expences far exceeds his gain,
And that the banker mortgages retain;
On each estate the gaudy thing has bought,
And that in real wealth not worth a groat.
Still he goes on till on a sudden stray,
Away awhile and cant the farmer pay;
Flies to his factor in the time of need,
For an advance but do not there succeed.
Some characters like those I do know well,
They can’t last long they cut so great a swell;
Oft do we see a very handsome coach,
A merchant sport, and meriting reproach;
Because full well he knows his books must show,
His ranting on has brought him very low;
When that’s the case too often others find,
A gig or coach is kept the eye to blind;
To every honest man I wish success,
And may misfortune never on them press.